Sunday morning coming down. And then going up!

I thought it was about time for a formal introduction to all this fabulosity that you are, no doubt, in awe of and spend countless hours dreaming about the ways in which you too can become as charming and witty.  Well unfortunately for you this kind of diva is BORN and not made bitches! Ahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Not really.

There is a reason why I'm a 'Madame Sunday' and not a 'Madame Diamonds' or a 'Glitter Galore' (sidebar: sounds like Mariah Carey's bond girl name!).   Let's break it down.

1) I certainly qualify as a Madame even if we're only looking at the sheer magnitude of unreasonable demands I make on others.  My friendships require riders. I also love judging people less fortunate than myself (and really, who isn't?) and I like to be followed by a posse of backup gays who break out into Sasha Fierce dance routines for added emphasis to my talking points.  Also because I briefly ran a brothel out of my college dorm room.  ALLEDGEDLY! 

I enjoy fancy things like brass chandeliers, designer furniture, a self-righteous attitude, wearing sunglasses inside and anything that involves my passport.  I have a feline companion by the name of Charlemagne who also likes to judge you.  She does not respond to Char-Char, Charley, Lamaine or any other quaint shortening of her name as you try to coo at her.  It's the full three syllables of fabulosity like Madonna - only one word necessary.  I'm pretty sure she has her own blog too.

If we're going to get specific I think my madame recipe is as follows...

50% this:

Gil Elvgren's Rare Edition

50% this: 

You poor unfortunate souls.

50% this:

from here with commentary on cat ladies

All mixed with a can of cream of mushroom soup and baked in a casserole with this sprinkled on top:

It's the equivalent of crumbled Ritz crackers which of course is the classy topping to any meal.  It's exactly the kind of dish you'd serve in the South on *segue alert*  a SUNDAY!!!!

2) It can't always be divas and diamonds though; there has to be something to temper the hurricane force of fabulosity.  Enter the Sunday.  It just happens to be my favorite day of the week - we get to spend the day recovering from working and partying while paying our respects to Jesus.  Or worshipping the Earth Mother by mowing the grass and weed eating much to the horror of the Baptists that pass me on their way to Sunday lunch.  GODLESS HEATHEN!  I can hear them thinking as they drive by on their way to Shoney's. 

Sundays are also for long lazy mornings, cocktails at brunch and Steven Seagal Lawman marathons while wearing pajamas and last night's makeup. 

Would you like a mimosa Steven?

Most people hate Sundays because they have to fortify themselves for the next five days of soul-crushing work.  I do the same. What IS better though than steeling yourself against the inevitable onslaught of the corporate machine is the refreshing idea of starting another week that has even a remote possibility of ending differently than the last one.  The sweet if not naive concept of Potential with a capital 'P'.   I think I like potential more than results.  Potential is infinite; results are limited to effort and available funds both of which are hard to come by in this house.  What we do have plenty of here is a never ending supply of grandiose plans and a selective memory.  People say the fun is in the journey not the destination but those assholes have never stripped, sanded and refinished 100 square feet of pine trim and paneling while living in a house with no furniture.  Fuck the journey.  I'll take the fantasy - it's clean, cheap and the fumes don't cause brain cancer.  Why else would people spend hours purring over Elle Decor, Martha Stewart and Vogue?  Well Anna Wintour's toxic stare probably does cause brain cancer but not over long distances so I'm probably safe.

Tumors aside, there is a vast chasm between my wants and my willingness.  In reality the majority of Madame Sunday's wants will never manifest but the view from here is MAAARVELOUS!  And there are cocktails while you wait! 

So let's pour that bloody mary into our travel mugs and toast to fresh starts and new years, lofty ambitions with little intention and zero shame about any of it.

CHEERS!  I'll see you at work tomorrow.